The Baker's Fate
by thestrangecreatures
Summary: The 74th Anuual Hunger Games. Peeta's POV. Tweaked to my liking. Romantic scenes. My first fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

The slim rays of early morning sun coming through the dirty window, above my bed, and onto my face, awake me. I look around my room and take in my everyday surroundings; everything seems in order. Then, I sit up on my bed and I can already feel it. The thing that _everybody _in the districts feels today. That special feel of dread that comes with today; reaping day. I look outside and see the dull gray streets of District 12 coated with coal dust, as empty as our hopes. Of course, most people would prefer to sleep in today. The day when one boy and one girl, tributes, are chosen for the Games. The day when it is more than likely that the girl and boy chosen from District 12 will never come back.

So far, no one close to me has been unfortunate enough to be chosen, but anything could happen, _anybody_ could be reaped. If they were between the ages of 12 and 18, that is. Then, I think of her. Katniss. How the odds are _not_ in her favor, because all of that tesserae she's taken, since her father died, and how it is more likely her name could be reaped than any other girls', how she could _die_ this year if she was reaped, but I quickly shake those ideas from my head. Today's not the day to be thinking things like that. We already had enough with it being our reality. Where is she now? Getting ready for the reaping? No. She's probably hunting with Gale. Just the idea of them together makes my blood run cold.

I've been in love with Katniss since kindergarten, when she sang the valley song in front of the whole class, on the first day of school, in that red dress. Her voice was so beautiful, even at 5 years, nobody could hold a candle to it. A lot of people said her father's voice was even more wonderful, but I loved her's the best. However, Katniss, the Hunter with Peeta, the Baker? No, it would never happen. She was too . . . amazing, brave, and the total opposite of me. That's why I don't like the idea of Gale and her being in the woods together. Because he stands much more of a chance with Katniss, than I ever will.

I go down to the kitchen where my two brothers and my parents are already having breakfast. I scan their faces for any trace of emotion. My mother's and eldest brother's show nothing, as if it were any other day. My father's and other brother's show an air of worry. We have bread for breakfast . . . again. At least today it isn't burnt, but only because it's reaping day, of course. We eat in enough silence to feel the tension and the unspoken emotions in the hot air of our bakery, until my father decides to break the silence.

"You boys aren't afraid are you" he asks, with an unsure smile. I bet it was meant to be a good-natured joke to break the ice, but he only receives the same unsure smiles as a response.

Once we're done with breakfast we sludge to our room, to put our "finest" clothes on and we wait. Even on a day like this my mother demands we dress and act of a status that isn't ours. I search for something to do because I can't stand doing nothing in all this anxiousness and see the garbage can is full and decide to take it out. I'm already out the front door, but I don't get any farther.

Katniss. There she is, a few doors down, at the mayor's back door, talking with the mayor's daughter, Madge. Katniss. I feel myself getting confident, because if I don't talk to her now I might not ever get the chance to do it again. Katniss. I guess that she's selling them the usual strawberries, but still there she is, with those pools of gray as eyes, her long dark hair, done into a braid, gleaming in the sunlight. She is only standing there, but I feel as if I need to take in everything she has to offer this very moment, just in case one of us does not come back. Katniss.

But, she's walking away now. I want to yell her name; to veer her attention towards me, but I only stay silent. Who am I kidding. I could never have enough guts to even say a simple ' hello ' to her. I watch her as she goes, through the streets and down the meadow, until I can't see her anymore. I snap out of it. I see Madge walking towards me. What could she want? To buy from the bakery? No, she bought yesterday. What else then?

"Peeta!" She calls from a distance, but still walking towards me.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"I want to talk to you" she says only a few feet away now.

"About what?" I ask.

Madge puts her face three inches away from mine so she can see my reaction, then she whispers, "Katniss". I could feel myself blush and I just hope it's not too noticeable. I look at Madge more intently now, what does she mean by that? Could she know what I've felt for Katniss all these years? No, I refuse to believe that; the only person that even has a clue is my father. She steps back a little and continues, "I know that you like her, Peeta."

"What?" I stare at her unbelievably. _How could she know?_

"Don't act like that with me, I've known you since we were little, and I can obviously tell you like her just by the way you look at her," she pauses, but I am too stunned to speak, "Not everybody looks at someone walk away, Peeta"

"I-I-I-"

"I just hope you tell her before it's too late" she says.

"Too, late?" I ask.

"Oh, you know, maybe the not-so-impossible will happen and she'll be reaped this year. Anything could happen, so . . . Why don't you think about it?" she replies with a smirk and stalks away.

I sit down on a bench next to my front door, to steady my self. I'm shaking. Shaking because I can't bear the thought of Katniss ever being dead. But, she was joking, right? I mean how would she know something like that? Just because she's the mayor's daughter doesn't mean she can go playing with people like that! The mayor's daughter . . . The mayor's daughter. The mayor. I can only sit there with the trash bag still in my hand. Was it possible that the mayor knew who was being reaped ahead of time and somehow Madge found out? I drop the trash and cradle my face in my hands. I peer out through my fingers and spot a small, sprouting yellow flower next to my foot. A dandelion. Just like the one years ago. I know, then, that there's still hope.


	2. Chapter 2

My family and I arrive to the reaping earlier than most. My father, mother, and eldest brother are roped off to the farthest side of the square. I'm led and roped off into a group of other 16-year-olds from the merchant part of District 12. My younger brother, in a different section.

The square slowly starts filling up. I am surrounded by more and more people every time I take notice. Late comers are herded off to the streets where they can watch the reaping on large television screens. I see the mayor and District 12's abnormally cheery escort, who's here to choose the names of this year's tributes, up on the makeshift stage in the middle of the square. But, someone's missing: Haymitch Abernathy, our only living victor. You'd think he'd be eager to show up for this great 'honor', but he's probably passed out in his comfortable home right now, since, after all, he is the district drunk. Wait, no, there he is staggering up the stairs onto the stage, with a bottle of spirits in his hands; he's drunk. No surprise there.

He tries to embrace Effie Trinket, our escort, but is pushed away by her. Haymitch may have the great 'honor' of being victor, but Effie certainly did not want anything more than strict business with him. He was from 'barbaric' District 12, a wealthy victor, but she probably expected someone classier to work with. Besides, Haymitch looked like he hadn't had a good bath for a while. His hair was greasy, he had a five o'clock shadow, food was staining his face, and his clothes looked like they haven't been cleaned in at least five days.

He also looked like he hadn't slept in a while, the dark bags underneath his eyes becoming more prominent with every passing day. Why hadn't he been getting any sleep? He probably had a lush, expensive bed from the Capitol; one that anybody would kill to have, not some rough, squeaky cot that'd been handmade. Oh, well, none of that was my business.

The clock strikes two and the mayor stands up to the podium. He begins a speech about the history of Panem; the Dark Days, the rebellion, all of these things gave us the Hunger Games. He finishes off by saying something about it being both time for repentance and time for thanks. Now, it's time to discover who'll be this year's tributes. Effie Trinket hops up to the podium and gives her signature line.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds, be ever in your favor!" She trots over to the first glass ball saying, "Ladies first!" She starts rolling the ball and every second feels like a decade of the worst torture possible. I look around at the faces surrounding me. Some had their eyes closed, other with theirs wide open, either way they all had the same expression on their faces. Wait, no, not all the same, only similar. All of their faces showed a certain unhappiness. Some were pained, other nervous, most just anxious to get this over with. I search for Katniss and read her expression easily; worried. I instantly think she's worried about Prim, her beloved little sister, the one she's protected with every bit of care she can muster up. I see Katniss turn and look at someone. I follow her view and see she's looking at Gale.

Gale! Of course! Why hadn't I thought about this earlier! Of course, she'd be worried sick about Prim, but she'd be worried about her hunting partner, Gale, too. They were hunting partners, best friends, and maybe even more than that. Something I would never be. I'm just snapping out of my thoughts when I hear Effie Trinket clear her voice and say the name of our girl tribute in a a crystallized, sing-song voice, affected with the capitol accent, "Primrose Everdeen!"

It takes me a moment to register the name in my head. Prim rose Everdeen. Primrose Everdeen! _Primrose Everdeen!_ What? How could this happen? I know for a fact Katniss wouldn't let her take any tesserae, and she was only 12 years old! That meant Prim had her name entered only once. One slip wit her name on it.

I hear screaming. I think it's Prim, but it isn't, because she is climbing onto the stage knees-shaking, white-knuckled, and pale-faced. I turn and try to locate the voice that is so familiar to me. I see people make way for someone and I catch a glimpse of a dark braid.

It's Katniss, and I could feel her hurt and shock at Prim being reaped. I inhale sharply as I watch her run up to the stage and the realization of what she's about to do hits me. I know I should be yelling at her to stop because if she dies, I die, too, but I can only think one thing, _Only Katniss would do this. _I only think that sentence in my head over and over again., until I hear her voice, "I volunteer as tribute!"

I don't know what happens next. I'm too caught up in my emotions and I'm in a daze. I feel as if the floor was dragged from under my feet and I'm falling, falling into a bottom-less pit . . .

I register a glimpse of someone falling off the stage, giggles, a high pitched voice, heels clattering on the stage then someone behind the podium as if about to speak. I realize it's Effie. And she's about to announce our boy tribute. I desperately hope it is Gale. That way Katniss would be protected and, hey, maybe she could make it home. But, then, she announces, "Peeta Mellark!"


End file.
